For the watch is engraved with the promise it is "water resistant" right down to 200m. This is wondrous, but I don’t dive and, frankly, would prefer cremation. Born a doubting Thomas, I always remove the watch to shower, and ponder what the Swiss mean by "water resistant". Is this as good as "waterproof?" Could I stick my arm out in the car wash?Tag Heuer do fine mucho-macho timepieces. They’re designed for Real Men like Timothy Dalton, who made his James Bond debut wearing a Tag Heuer Night Dive. The hip Steve McQueen snapped on his Heuer Monaco to drive fast laps in Le Mans.
But this column is not about the Rolex, the Cartier, and wrist posturing. Rather, it’s a cheapskate’s guide to impressing the beloved with Christmas presents snagged from the pawn shop.
It was a fortnight before the Holy Day, and I waited at a bus stop outside a Cash Converters. As time wore on, I gave up on time-killing diversions like calculating the speed of dark, and examined the pawnbroker’s window. There was a Dyna Mop, several electric guitars, a chorus of flatscreens, a radiogram of yore, and there, on a stand displaying watches, a very nice Tag Heuer. It was madly priced at only $200, and Wit’s End had never owned a decent watch.
"Does that $200 Tag Heuer work," I asked the pawnbroker.
He lifted the watch from the window, dangled it, and loftily replied: "Does it work? Of course it ..."
He shook the watch impatiently, then shook it again.
"Of course it ... doesn’t. That’s why it’s only 200 bucks. But for three thou I’ve got a mint Rolex you’d love."
Rolex, Smolex, I figured I’d take odds the jeweller down the street could get the Tag Heuer running with a spit, a good clean and a new battery. Which he did. Total investment by your cheapskate: a mere $270. Hah! Christmas was coming, I could take these pawnbroker primitives down, and besides they owed me from the past.
You haven’t truly experienced life without meeting the pawnbroker from the wrong side of the counter — when, flat broke and out of work, you front with your trusty Nikon, and he mumbles his dirge about having too many cameras, and what a shame yours is not the NX-193d. Finally this pawnbroker, a native of the Lebanon, made me an offer which was almost a quarter reasonable. But it was cash, real money. I’m not sure I may say this today — but, screwed as I was, this is the only occasion I nearly kissed an Arab.
Remembering this, I returned to Cash Converters intent on the sweet revenge of snapping up decent presents at burglar prices. For my brother-in-law, a hobbyist possum skinner, I chose a knife that could peel elephants. The fly-fishing nephew — a marvellous all-purpose trout thingummy. My 9-year-old ice-skating princess — genuine fake jewellery to make her costume sparkle. By God, these presents would have the family slack-jawed and agape. They’d know they were prized.
Which left my choice for the Ex. Look, I may be mad, but I’m not stupid. The Ex believed putting money aside for a rainy day is consumerism pointlessly delayed. It took me 30 seconds to decide it would be life-threatening to bring her fab gifts from a pawnshop. One’s Ex aside, my point is the pawnshop offers the cheapskate a cornucopia of presents that gobsmack. Other shopping options pale. The internet shopping service Scroogle has yet to be invented. You might consider liquor, but what if they don’t share it? And lingerie deals — sorry, but you won’t find lacey knickers in the no frills bin. Besides, any bloke entering a lingerie section carries a parrot on his shoulder squawking "Daddy’s a pervert".
The better people like to give and receive books. With today’s book prices, the issue is whether you give one real book or three Kindle downloads. It’s a very fair question. I found its answer in a revealing exchange between two dogs who’d just eaten a Kindle.
Spot: "Did you enjoy that?"
Rover: "Look, it was OK, but frankly, I preferred the book."
Enough said. While they don’t do book readings at Cash Converters, there are bargains at the Salvos. Happy hunting.
- John Lapsley is an Arrowtown writer.
